


i'm not accustomed (to losing you)

by cloudburst



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, a 3 am mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: 'Alexander, don't leave.'And the words are said as if he has a choice.





	i'm not accustomed (to losing you)

**Author's Note:**

> it is 3:30 am and i have a 9:30 am class and i'm not gonna remember writing or posting this when i wake up but hey! what can ya do with yourself when you're a sad insomniac who can't sleep
> 
> cw: blood, knife, stabbing, character death 
> 
> it ain't bad, but i still wanna warn ya

He's so gone in that moment—curled up in Magnus' bed, no, _their_ bed—Magnus away helping a client. He's so gone, but still immediately in tune with the movement in the doorway, sees Magnus' figure walk through the frame as the man himself watches Alec, who for his part rolls onto his back—offering Magnus a dopey smile that's typically reserved for early mornings over coffee, and late nights amongst the sound of rustling sheets. The weight of Magnus crawling onto the mattress is a familiar one, one that he welcomes with no hesitation—shifting to accommodate the new weight as he crawls over top of Alec, lithe, like a cat—legs on either side of his hips as he moves to straddle Alec's waist, a hand coming to rest atop his shoulder. The other hand reaches behind Magnus' back as Alec places his hands on Magnus' hips, smile wide and tired, but _alive_ —the weight of three AM weighing heavy upon him. 

Alec sighs as Magnus leans forward—lips at Alec's ear, Alec's own back pushed into the mattress, hands now sliding along Magnus' sides. It's been two days, but god, has he missed this. "I missed you."

And he has—been in hell without Magnus to hold him, remind him that it's okay to take a moment. Alec wasn't lying when he said that he couldn't live without him. 

Magnus' weight shifts back slightly—a nip at Alec's ear, teeth scraping as Magnus' hand comes away from Alec's shoulder. The moon is screaming at Alec to listen, to escape the oppressive night, but he doesn't mind, has never cared much for paranoia. Besides, he is too busy staring into the sun that is Magnus Bane to heed the feeble warnings of a rock. 

Yet, perhaps he should have; for suddenly the night becomes a cacophony of despair and dishonesty. He should have listened to the screams—to himself, and to the pounding of his heart.

"I didn't miss you, Lightwood." The voice is not Magnus', and neither is the blade that finds itself lodged in his abdomen—Alec's hands falling from the imposter's hips, gasp escaping his lips, ending in a silent plea. Pain bubbles in his throat, doesn't escape as fake Magnus shifts his weight back—adding insult to injury, applying pressure to the blade. Maybe he'll die slowly—in pain. "Got you." Twists—searing heat, eyes rolling back in his head. "It'll be nice to leave that filthy warlock a present."

And Alec knows there is blood on the sheets—on Magnus' beautiful sheets—feels it seeping out around him, beneath him—can't breathe thinking about it. He knows they are yellow, can think of the disgusting brown Magnus will find, that the _real_ Magnus, will find when he returns. Sheets the color of sunshine tainted by the sunset—the setting of his life. And by the angel, he wishes this could have ended differently—wishes that Magnus wouldn't have to see him this way, covered in his own blood, shadowhunter essence staining everything it touches. He wishes that he could have loved him for just a little longer—held him tighter, and maybe portaled for that lamb kebab they never got. 

Alec knows that he is loved, abdomen burning with it, even as the warmth leaves him. He can feel the real Magnus' lips pressed to his abdomen, the area around his wound—at the very least he thinks he can, but he accepts it as false reality. He supposes his way of coping with the cruel reality is Magnus, and believes that's how it has been for a while. He doesn't want to die, god, does he want to live, but the realization that if he moves—tries to save his own life—will result in his own bleeding out keeps him in place. 

Instead, he thinks of cat eyes and ember—of sunshine and fear. He understands that now, once again Magnus will have nothing to lose; he can live unafraid. Alec cannot feel, but he thinks that idea makes him happy—the dark around the edges of his vision providing him with an image of a happy Magnus—never fearing the loss of another. Perhaps it is good, that he is dying, he thinks. He never thought death would feel so surreal—so slow. 

He feels the blade leave him—cold, shivering, choking on bile and blood. Suddenly, he is afraid to die. 

He is afraid as it becomes inevitable.

It's so cold, but Magnus is warmth—would tell him it'd be alright, push him to stay. But now Alec is by himself, the imposter left him to die, left him to bare his insides alone. That is good, he supposes—will not die in the presence of his murderer. He can hear Magnus whisper to him, _you will not die at all._

But Alec can recognize Magnus' lies, even the ones he tells himself in his stead. 

He is unsure if he is alive or dead when he hears someone scream his name—supposes there could be a dastardly in between that he's been condemned to for all eternity. It wouldn't surprise him, that even in death the Shadow World hides secrets from him. 

He thinks he alive—just barely breathing when he senses the magic flow through him. Alec cannot feel, cannot think, simply hears broken words: _'Alexander, don't leave.'_ And the words are said as if he has a choice. He doesn't recall what it is like to make a decision—to have a choice to live. He can't remember what it was like to decide to hold Magnus, to kiss him at his own wedding. He cannot remember the feeling of his sister's arms around him, or the sight of Max's smile. He supposes these things would feel as though they were the opposite of his fading consciousness. 

He believes the words are said aloud. But he doesn't even know what words are—what aloud means—or who he is. All he knows, is this.

_'Please, tell Magnus that I love him.'_

Magnus promises to tell him, at the very same moment Alexander's heart stops.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what ya thaaank (:


End file.
